“Hey man, pass that.” Alex said leaning back onto the couch.
“I had like one toke.” I replied.
“Guys chill I’ll make another one, chill.” Cilian hung on the “L” in chill for a good three seconds, in a stony daze. He got to work. I passed my joint on to Alex, and he happily toked away.
Something ought to be said about us. First off, we’re brilliant. Secondly, we’re gorgeous, if I may say so myself. And thirdly, we’re quite the connoisseurs. To elaborate, we are all studying on scholarship at Texas A&M. Me for my chemistry brilliance, Cilian for his skills at the bar, and Alex for his hell of an arm. We have fun here at Texas A&M, we sure do. Our dorm always stinks for three reasons: partying, girls over, and of course, the fact that we never clean. Alex has been throwing footballs since he can remember, Cilian has been smoking for longer, and I’ve been mixing shit up since I pissed in diapers. But to elaborate, Alex played football with me and Cilian back at West Preston, but we only play small parts on the team here in college: I’m a linebacker and Cilian is a tight-end. But football takes up a small part of our lives, we mostly smoke and enjoy the shit out of college life.
So it’s Thursday afternoon and we have less classes due to being on the football team, so, on Friday we only have practice and all of our other classes (along with more practice) on the first four days of the week. Thursday afternoon is always smoke and videogames day. But, today, Alex got some special brownies from his dealer, and were they ever special. Cilian was so fucked up he could hardly roll, which was a bummer since he’s our roller and I broke the bong two weeks ago. Cilian was the first to break the stony silence of inhaling and coughing.
“Jake I will literally suck your dick if you make of that peanut butter shit.” Cilian was one vulgar son of a bitch. Well we were all really vulgar, but Cilian was the most vulgar of us all.
“Cilian, I’ll fucking make it but what’s with the dicks all the time? “Why does the teacher have a hard-on for me?” “That dick sucking cock fucking motherfucker!” “Ram a dick up my ass and call me Lucy.” Like fuck man, relax it’s some fucking sauce on pasta.” I got up off the couch and dragged my feet to the kitchen, joint in hand. “Alright, pasta?”
“Penne motherfucker.” Cilian responded. Something was to be said about our place. We focused on around five or six different kinds of foods and ate pretty much exclusively when high. Also we had an ashtray on a shelf stuck to the wall in the kitchen. There’s a great wood shop at school, and Cilian and Alex tease me but I love me some pottery class. I turned on the burners and got to one of my favourite hobbies. I filled a pot with boiling and got to work. I remember the time my dad taught me how to do this. Good times.
So that’s us. I don’t know. I think we’re quite a bunch. I wouldn’t trade ‘em for other people. I’m not exactly looking for new friends, I’ve already got around seven. How many does one person need? Oh shit I didn’t tell you about last night. Okay so get this; Alex, Cilian and I were at this party, cruising doing the usual use. When this guy hands us a bong. So I light it and we smoke it down. It must have been fucking great shit cause I was really blazed, I couldn’t even finish my drink, I think at one point I just dropped it in a sink. I walked in on people having sex, I saw this beautiful Portuguese girl for a few minutes but I don’t remember her name or anything we talked about, I’ll never forget that smile though. Anyways about an hour after that guy gave us that bong, I hear Alex yelling his head off. I then hear John and Robert (two more guys on the team) yelling too. I go into the next room. Some guys from Texas State (a team I’m pretty sure we don’t even play against) started dissing out Alex’s mother. There’s nothing to be said about her it’s just some random shit being started. As I’m walking in I realize last night we won a big game and after every win we wear our jackets. So just as I make eye contact with Alex he makes this face like “Oh shit” and this brick of a fist rams across my face. There goes my buzz.
“TEXAS A&M LET’S GO-OUU” Some one calls out, and that’s that. Two entire teams shuffle out onto the patio in the backyard of the quiet Texas suburb. Punches were flying, sides were busted, heads concussed, but after a good eight minutes, it’s safe to say we came out on top, and the other team left the party, defeated. On our drunken ride home (on bicycles, don’t worry) we discussed who was where and who beat up whom that night. It was nice. We didn’t think it’d catch up to us.
